


Shipwreck

by debl_ns



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debl_ns/pseuds/debl_ns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It bothered Sam that Gene hadn't come to see him. Gene had purposely stayed away. He'd thought that it had been both regret and rage, but what it was was fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shipwreck

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lozenger8, for lifein1973's 6th anniversary.

Sam opened the closet door and pulled out a thick sweater, putting it on over his shirt. He hobbled outside, leaving the refuge of the cabin, and took the path, through the evergreens, to the beach. He caught a glimpse of the sky in the thick of the treetops, like a child playing peek-a-boo through its fingers, and it was gray and overcast. He sat on a tree trunk, half-buried in and surrounded by sand. He felt a pull of emotion, like the allure of a wave as it snatched a lonely piece of driftwood and swept it out to sea.

It bothered him that Gene hadn't come to see him. He'd been angry at Gene, but now it was replaced by a feeling of melancholy. He knew he'd been right about what had happened, but Gene hadn't believed him. He'd seen it in Gene's face. Gene had called it an unholy mess, called him a prat … and threatened to give him a right pounding.

Sam gathered his jumper around himself and studied the sea. There was a small boat in the water. He looked unhappily at it. The vessel was alone. Soon it would be gone, leaving barely a trace. If Gene disappeared from his life, who would anchor him here--to 1973?

He wanted a cigarette. He needed it. One drag and he would feel better. He felt a childish impatience that Gene hadn't called him, hadn't come to visit. It was incomprehensible to him. Was Gene that devoid of understanding? The other possibility was that he was an arse. Sam didn't have the energy to weigh one against the other.

Gene's betrayal had been unexpected, had hurt him. He still had trouble accepting it. I'm so afraid of abandonment, Sam thought with disgust. Yet he had run away, had left Manchester and come to Blackpool to think, to mend.

A lone dog walked up the beach. It limped over to him, its tail between its two hind legs, and looked up with sad brown eyes. “Hello, boy,” Sam said. He leaned over and stroked the animal gently under his chin. “Why are you here on your own?” He patted his head and back. “At least, you'll give me the time of day.” The dog shook himself and wagged his tail back and forth.

*****

Gene breathed in then let out a puff of displeasure. He didn’t like the smell of the forest. There was something in the air; the stink of dark earth and wet leaves, something rotten. No doubt Sam would think it heady and romantic, but he simply found it smelly. It reminded him of going to the park with Stu, following his shadow, and trying not to think about what could be hiding beyond the trees. His fear that his brother would leave him behind.

He’d purposely stayed away from Sam. He'd thought that it had been both regret and rage, but what it was was fear. Bloody fear. He'd broken out into a cold sweat when he'd realized that Sam--And now, what it was that needed to be said, and how he was going to say it, he didn't know.

Sam had done it before. Put two and two together and decided to put himself in the role of savior. Clever, that Sam--it had surprised Gene; what he'd known about policing, his spick-and-span ideas that he'd brought from Hyde--but sometimes he had too much going on in that head of his.

He could hear and smell the sea before he saw it. The waves lapping in and out, it smelled of salt, seaweed, and stranded shellfish. What am I doing here? Gene thought. He refused to go any further and stopped to light a smoke, turning out of the wind and cupping his hands around the cigarette. It took him several tries to get it lit. He took a few fast puffs, blowing smoke out of his nose, before stepping out on to the beach. 

Sam looked like he had been cast ashore, seated with his back to Gene and facing the water. How long had he been sitting there? He was with a bloody dog of all things. They seemed to be friends. “Sam!” Gene called. Sam turned, looking over his shoulder, surprise on his face. Gene moved toward him, his tie waving like a third arm, but Sam had already turned his back. The only answer was the harsh cry made by a seagull, fighting with another gull over a scrap of fish. Standing on one foot and shaking sand off his shoe, Gene settled back on the trunk next to Sam. “Mind if I sit?”

Sam shrugged, giving Gene a challenging look. That look, Gene thought, the one that meant Sam was going to argue with him. “Go ahead … sit,” Sam said instead, as if Gene was the dog at his feet.

Gene's eyes dropped down to Sam's leg, propped up on a branch. A cane was sticking out of the ground like the mast of a ship. Sam had tied a hanky to it, and it was flapping about at half mast. Gene wondered what Sam was mourning. “How's the leg?” 

Sam picked up the cane and poked the remains of a crab with it. “Not bad.”

Gene pulled on the cigarette and looked out across the water. He could just see a boat to his left before it disappeared out of sight. He smoked in silence then stubbed out the cigarette and flicked the fag end into the sand. “So tell me, what's the attraction? Bit chilly, innit? Freeze the balls off a brass monkey.” 

“Nice to see you too, Gene.”

“Can't a friend come around for a drink? Nice and social, that.” Gene reached into his coat pockets, pulling out a bottle of whisky and two mugs. Sam looked at them blankly before accepting a cup, and Gene poured each of them a neat measure of the scotch.

“Saw your neighbour. Lovely bird.” Gene held the mug to his lips. “Red shorts. Big tits. She like it here? Too much forest for my taste.” He took a sip, letting the alcohol warm in his mouth before swallowing. Sam stared at his own mug. Enough of the pussy-footing around bollocks, Gene thought. “What the bloody hell did you think you were doing, Sam?”

Sam's head swung around. “Oh, God,” he answered in an exasperated rush of air.

“Exactly. Fancy yourself the King of kings, do you?” Gene asked, his eyebrows raised and bent out of shape.

“What?”

“You bloody well know what. A good shepherd. A protector. Son of God. Messiah. Jesus Christ!” 

“Gene--” Sam struggled to get up, forgetting about the scotch and spilling some of the liquid on his trousers. He sank back down on the dead tree with a grunt of pain.

“I saw that expression on your face. What it meant. You were going to do just what I'd told you not to do … I should kick your arse straight to the Isle of Man. Easy enough. We had a good plan.” 

“I had a feeling.”

“Right. Then you were as stupid a bugger as you are stubborn.” Gene knocked back the last of his scotch.

“There was something wrong from the beginning! Green--the way he was standing! He was going to harm--” The dog, curled in a warm hollow in the sand, raised his head and barked. “Easy, boy,” Sam said, scratching the animal's ears. “It's all right.” Sam glanced at Gene. “I knew you had my back. You took Green out. That's what it's all about, Gene. Trust. If you don't trust me ...”

“Trust you.” Gene sighed. “Sam, do you have any idea what it would do to me if something happened to you?” Even now, Gene could hear the crack of the gunshot. See the bright red blood Sam's heart was forcing out through the injured blood vessel and damaged, twisted tissue of Sam's thigh, soaking Sam's clothes. Feel the coolness of his skin. How could he have been that cold … and be alive? “I can’t sleep--not for long anyroad. Soon as I close me eyes, it all comes back. Didn’t even get to say goodbye.” Just like Stu. And he’d carried Stu everywhere; the slightest bit of bother and he’d exploded--and, now, he was carrying Sam, too. “I thought you were bloody dead,” he admitted, in a low voice.

Sam’s brown eyes met Gene’s. There was everything in them--from despair to realisation to acceptance to forgiveness. Tears. Sam touched Gene’s shoulder with his hand. “I'm here,” he said. 

“Where else would you be?”

“Want to talk some more?”

“Not really.”

“Gene?”

“Eh?”

“Do you have some time to eat?”

Gene's eyes swept the horizon. The clouds broke apart and he saw the sun through the rift. “All the time in the world, Sam.” 

“Oh, good.”

“What’s on offer?”

“Very good steaks,” Sam smiled, smug. He looked down at the dog. “You want to come?” The animal cocked his head, his jaws opened slightly in consent. 

Gene stretched out his hand and the dog nuzzled his palm.


End file.
